Mirror Sight
Page 147
“I actually have a piece of pleasant news,” the professor said.
She looked up, attentive and hopeful that he’d changed his mind about Lhean.
“Mrs. Downey expressed her desire to me, today, that you meet her son.”
“Oh.” Karigan tried not to reveal her disappointment.
“Oh?” The professor echoed, raising both eyebrows. “My dear, he is a fine young man.”
As the professor began to list the attributes of Mrs. Downey’s son, Karigan saw clearly how the professor was trying to integrate her into his world. She was to make friends with Arhys. Boiled dinner was being struck from the menu. She was to be courted by the scions of Mill City’s Preferred families. He wanted her to forget where she came from and give up any notion of returning. In fact, he didn’t want her just to integrate, he wanted her to conform.
When he finished his litany of praises for the virtuous paragon of masculinity that was Master Downey, Karigan said, “You know, my father tried matching me with appropriate suitors, but it never went well.”
The professor froze, then looked this way and that to see who might have overheard. Perhaps she had spoken recklessly, but she was tired of the whole charade, and it wasn’t like she had named names. Whatever anyone knew, her fictional father might have tried to arrange a good marriage for Kari Goodgrave before she was put away in the asylum.
“I would be careful of your words, my dear,” the professor warned her, giving her a significant look.
Grott re-entered the dining room just then with a steaming bowl of soup, alleviating her need to respond. She waited for the soup to cool, and was glad she’d requested it. It was thick with chicken and vegetables, a good heartening meal for one who did not know how well she would eat after this night.
The professor did not speak while she ate, sunk deeply into his own thoughts, but by the time she was tilting the bowl to get at the last of the broth, he looked up at her, his expression plaintive.
“I just want you to be happy here, my dear.”
“I will be happy.” Just not here. “I am grateful for all you’ve done for me, Uncle.” And she meant it. But did he hear the underlying meaning to her words,? That these were words of farewell? She could not tell.
When she finished, she headed upstairs to await the midnight hour. She was intercepted by Mirriam who squinted at Karigan through her monocle.
“Miss Goodgrave.”
“Mirriam.” Karigan waited. Mirriam looked like she had something on her mind that needed saying.
“Well, now,” the housekeeper said on an exhalation, and much more softly than usual. “If that Tam Ryder of yours decides to go riding at odd hours, you best warn him to take care. He has been seen and not just by Luke.”
By the look Mirriam gave her, Karigan gleaned that the housekeeper was referring to herself. Stunned, Karigan blinked rapidly. “I—I will.”
“Good.” The monocle dropped to the end of its chain, and Mirriam turned to go then paused. Even more quietly she said, “Also, ask Tam to tell Mr. Harlowe to refrain from engaging in further taproom brawls. It is not becoming of a gentleman.”
Karigan nodded emphatically, wondering exactly what and how much Mirriam knew, and why she had not alerted the professor to Karigan’s late night excursion. It was clear Mirriam was aware of more going on, within and without her household, than was typical, but to what extent it was impossible to say, and to what ends it was impossible to ascertain. Everyone here seemed to have a secret agenda, even the housekeeper. Karigan watched after Mirriam as she made her way down the corridor, then called after her.
“Yes?” Mirriam turned, her usual severe expression on her face.
“Thank you. I just wanted to thank you for everything. And . . . good night.”
“Good night, Miss Goodgrave.” Mirriam turned to descend the stairs.
When the time came for Lorine to help Karigan prepare for bed, Karigan offered her a heartfelt good night as well, silently wishing the best for the former slave. Karigan had grown almost too comfortable in the professor’s house, eating good food and wearing fine dresses. She would miss the professor, Lorine, and Mirriam, and all the others, but not as much as she missed her own home.
She’d grown comfortable, but she’d also become a prisoner. A prisoner of the professor’s protection, as well as his time, and of the constraints of the empire. It was time to break bonds of all kinds.
She pulled the bedcovers up to her chin to await the striking of midnight.
ARHYS
Arhys had a room of her own, but it was not as big as Miss Goodgrave’s. Arhys had a bed to herself, but it was tiny compared to the one Miss Goodgrave got to sleep in. After the professor made Arhys go to her room, she had wailed and stomped and broken the dolls he had given her. They had real hair and porcelain faces and pretty dresses, but two now had cracked heads, and a ripped-off arm spilled sawdust across the floor. Now she didn’t even have her dollies to talk to. They were ruined, and it was all Miss Goodgrave’s fault. Miss Goodgrave had made her do it.
She’d also pulled all her dresses out of her wardrobe so that they were strewn about, and she stomped on them. She had swept her pretty toiletries off her dresser. She gouged at the plaster wall with a hair pick. She’d show them. She’d show them all.
The professor had been very stern with her. He’d ordered her to not tell anyone, no one at all, about the secret door that went to secret places. It was very important she keep the secret. He would buy her dresses if she was a good girl and kept it.
She looked up, attentive and hopeful that he’d changed his mind about Lhean.
“Mrs. Downey expressed her desire to me, today, that you meet her son.”
“Oh.” Karigan tried not to reveal her disappointment.
“Oh?” The professor echoed, raising both eyebrows. “My dear, he is a fine young man.”
As the professor began to list the attributes of Mrs. Downey’s son, Karigan saw clearly how the professor was trying to integrate her into his world. She was to make friends with Arhys. Boiled dinner was being struck from the menu. She was to be courted by the scions of Mill City’s Preferred families. He wanted her to forget where she came from and give up any notion of returning. In fact, he didn’t want her just to integrate, he wanted her to conform.
When he finished his litany of praises for the virtuous paragon of masculinity that was Master Downey, Karigan said, “You know, my father tried matching me with appropriate suitors, but it never went well.”
The professor froze, then looked this way and that to see who might have overheard. Perhaps she had spoken recklessly, but she was tired of the whole charade, and it wasn’t like she had named names. Whatever anyone knew, her fictional father might have tried to arrange a good marriage for Kari Goodgrave before she was put away in the asylum.
“I would be careful of your words, my dear,” the professor warned her, giving her a significant look.
Grott re-entered the dining room just then with a steaming bowl of soup, alleviating her need to respond. She waited for the soup to cool, and was glad she’d requested it. It was thick with chicken and vegetables, a good heartening meal for one who did not know how well she would eat after this night.
The professor did not speak while she ate, sunk deeply into his own thoughts, but by the time she was tilting the bowl to get at the last of the broth, he looked up at her, his expression plaintive.
“I just want you to be happy here, my dear.”
“I will be happy.” Just not here. “I am grateful for all you’ve done for me, Uncle.” And she meant it. But did he hear the underlying meaning to her words,? That these were words of farewell? She could not tell.
When she finished, she headed upstairs to await the midnight hour. She was intercepted by Mirriam who squinted at Karigan through her monocle.
“Miss Goodgrave.”
“Mirriam.” Karigan waited. Mirriam looked like she had something on her mind that needed saying.
“Well, now,” the housekeeper said on an exhalation, and much more softly than usual. “If that Tam Ryder of yours decides to go riding at odd hours, you best warn him to take care. He has been seen and not just by Luke.”
By the look Mirriam gave her, Karigan gleaned that the housekeeper was referring to herself. Stunned, Karigan blinked rapidly. “I—I will.”
“Good.” The monocle dropped to the end of its chain, and Mirriam turned to go then paused. Even more quietly she said, “Also, ask Tam to tell Mr. Harlowe to refrain from engaging in further taproom brawls. It is not becoming of a gentleman.”
Karigan nodded emphatically, wondering exactly what and how much Mirriam knew, and why she had not alerted the professor to Karigan’s late night excursion. It was clear Mirriam was aware of more going on, within and without her household, than was typical, but to what extent it was impossible to say, and to what ends it was impossible to ascertain. Everyone here seemed to have a secret agenda, even the housekeeper. Karigan watched after Mirriam as she made her way down the corridor, then called after her.
“Yes?” Mirriam turned, her usual severe expression on her face.
“Thank you. I just wanted to thank you for everything. And . . . good night.”
“Good night, Miss Goodgrave.” Mirriam turned to descend the stairs.
When the time came for Lorine to help Karigan prepare for bed, Karigan offered her a heartfelt good night as well, silently wishing the best for the former slave. Karigan had grown almost too comfortable in the professor’s house, eating good food and wearing fine dresses. She would miss the professor, Lorine, and Mirriam, and all the others, but not as much as she missed her own home.
She’d grown comfortable, but she’d also become a prisoner. A prisoner of the professor’s protection, as well as his time, and of the constraints of the empire. It was time to break bonds of all kinds.
She pulled the bedcovers up to her chin to await the striking of midnight.
ARHYS
Arhys had a room of her own, but it was not as big as Miss Goodgrave’s. Arhys had a bed to herself, but it was tiny compared to the one Miss Goodgrave got to sleep in. After the professor made Arhys go to her room, she had wailed and stomped and broken the dolls he had given her. They had real hair and porcelain faces and pretty dresses, but two now had cracked heads, and a ripped-off arm spilled sawdust across the floor. Now she didn’t even have her dollies to talk to. They were ruined, and it was all Miss Goodgrave’s fault. Miss Goodgrave had made her do it.
She’d also pulled all her dresses out of her wardrobe so that they were strewn about, and she stomped on them. She had swept her pretty toiletries off her dresser. She gouged at the plaster wall with a hair pick. She’d show them. She’d show them all.
The professor had been very stern with her. He’d ordered her to not tell anyone, no one at all, about the secret door that went to secret places. It was very important she keep the secret. He would buy her dresses if she was a good girl and kept it.
